Hit Me One More Time
by AerynKat
Summary: Eighth year. Everyone's back and surprisingly, getting along. Everyone except Harry and Draco, of course. The Gryffindors begin to suspect there might be more at work than just dislike. Warning; boy smex, violence and misuse of showers. COMPLETE!
1. Slytherins are Stupid, Gryffindors are D

**Aeryn: **Hey guys. So, this was intended to be a one-shot based on the film that Harry and Draco made in _A Million Reasons_. It may end up a chapter fic, but it certainly won't be very long. It is NOT DH compliant, and is EWE. Snape lived, Slughorn died (I never liked him anyway) and everyone went back for eighth year after the battle. Yipee. :P

**Flying Monkey (aka Donald):** Squawk! Squawk!

**Aeryn:** _*nodding*_ Yes indeed Donald. This will be amusing and crack-filled. With yummy boy sex of course.

**Donald:** Squawky-squawk!

**Aeryn:** Hmm, yes. I will be sure to tell them I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, and that this fic is rated M for sex, violence and coarse language. Happy now?

**Donald:** Squawk!

**Muffled voices from the closet:** We're not!

**Aeryn:** Good. On with the show.

For _Pokeyspot_

* * *

**_Hit Me One More Time_**

_Act One - Slytherins are Stupid, Gryffindors are Delusional_

The cauldron made a large smashing noise as it hit the floor. Everyone in the room dropped to the ground, far too used to these occurrences by now. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood over their ruined potion, bickering like old women.

"I told you to add newt's _eyes_, not newt's _tongue_, you half-witted, impotent, arse-licker!"

"What? You were the one who stirred it three times too many!"

"I wouldn't have if I hadn't been distracted by your inability to correctly chop mandrake! Honestly Potter-"

"QUIET!" The Potions Master stood at the back, fuming. Snape had returned after Slughorn's death to resume the post of Potions Master, and everyone knew he'd regretted it, ever since assigning Potter and Malfoy as partners. After all, this was becoming a daily occurrence in Potions. One of them would screw something up, the other would make snide remarks, and it invariably ended with a spilled or ruined potion and another dose of high-blood pressure medication for their Professor. They would really be the death of him at this rate. That stuff wasn't meant to be taken long-term.

Draco and Harry glared at each other as Snape went through his usual spiel about the sacred nature of potions work, about the level of dedication required to pass this class, and the unyielding and terrifying nature of some of the ingredients they worked with. They had both long since memorized it. Realizing neither of his deliquent charges were paying attention, Snape sent them into the corridor with a frustrated yell of "OUT! OUT! GET OUT OF MY CLASS YOU INCOMPETENT FOOLS!" which they took to mean they should come back later to finish their potion in detention. They dutifully slung their bags over their shoulders and headed out, only to start bickering as soon as they cleared the threshold. Draco swiveled towards Harry with a scowl set on his dainty features.

"Potter, unlike you I actually _want_ to pass this course, and if you ruin it for me so help me Merlin I will-"

"You'll what, Malfoy? Your father is in Azkaban, your mother under house-arrest, and only _my_ help enabled you to come back here. What exactly are you going to do to me?" Harry knew that was cruel, and felt bad as soon as he saw the emotions ghosting across Malfoy's face. But he was so sick of all this quarreling. He thought that after the war, after how much they had been through, and the loss of all their reasons to fight, they could at least ignore each other. But instead the fighting was worse than ever. Malfoy got along perfectly well with everyone else. Even Ron had grudgingly forgiven him when the Slytherin apologized for antagonizing him for so long. Hell, he and Hermione had become _study partners_, both so consumed with their desire to get outstanding results that they had become friends almost instantly, after an incident involving an advanced transfiguration textbook and a very confused librarian-come-frog. So why the bloody hell couldn't he and Malfoy get along? All the animosity no longer had any reason or purpose. It was bloody confusing and damn frustrating.

Suddenly Harry realized Malfoy had been reeling off insults at him for the last few minutes, and must have noticed Harry wasn't paying attention, because they had become very strange.

"… I bet you eat live iguana's at your house, you and your barbarian muggle-folks. You roast unsuspecting kittens on spits and feed them to dogs, which you then eat raw. You sleep in a pile of manure and straw (frankly that would explain your hair) and-"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted. "What on earth are you on about?"

Malfoy mouth abruptly slammed shut, and he muttered something along the lines of "Bloody no-good Gryffindors and their bloody no-good short attention spans…" Harry couldn't help but smile as the blonde walked away. Malfoy, a sense of humour. What were the odds?

* * *

_Damn Potter. Damn him to hell. And Snape too. Stupid, making him partner with the stupid Gryffindor with his stupid inability to brew a stupid potion…._

Draco's thoughts continued in this particular trend until he slammed into a wall, the regrettable consequence of not looking where he was going. Looking up, he spotted a nervous-looking Gryffindor - one of Harry's friends, Longbottom, perhaps? - staring at him with a mixture of apprehension and indecisiveness. He appeared to be having some kind of inner moral debate. Draco had just lost interest and was starting to walk away when the nervous git decided to approach him. Apparently his moral qualms had been quietened. Draco eyed him with trepidation. He had done his best to avoid any kind of scrapes since the war, even ending up friends with _Granger_ of all people. A Muggleborn! The word Mudblood had disappeared from his vocabulary at some point throughout the war, Draco wasn't entirely sure when. Probably around the time that he realized that, when it was leaked onto a battlefield littered with corpses, blood is neither muddy nor pure. It's all the bloody same.

Draco was drawn from his musings by the Gryffindor - Longbottom, he corrected himself - clearing his throat.

"Can I help you with something?" Draco asked, rather abruptly, because dammit, he wanted to go back to his room and smash something pricey while imagining it was the Idiot Saviour's head. That always helped him calm down. Well, sometimes. Well, not really. But it was fun.

Longbottom looked up at Draco with big, doe-like, brown eyes. His bottom lip quivered, as though he was wondering if he should burst into tears. Draco raked a hand through his shaggy, unkempt, yet perfectly-styled, platinum hair. Then he sighed.

"Longbottom, I hate to hurry you, but if I don't smash some _thing_ soon, there is a good chance that I will end up smashing some_one_."

The Gryffindor nodded emphatically.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I understand completely." The git was gushing now. "I just wanted to talk to you about Harry." That sparked Draco's interest. _Potter?_ He inclined his head to one side, indicating with a hand that the boy should continue.

"The thing is, a lot of us have been wondering about why you and Harry can't get along, even though you've started being so nice to everyone else since the war." There was nothing Malfoy could say to that, Potter just _irked_ him. "So we all started thinking about it, and we wondered if maybe, it wasn't angry tension, so much as…" He trailed of, fidgeting and looking guilty and insecure. Draco sighed.

"So much as what?"

"Sexual tension!" The bumbling Gryffindor blurted out. Draco stared. _Sexual tension? _Between him and _Potter_? He cocked his head to one side and shook it, to clear the obvious obstruction to his hearing.

"Come again?"

The boy fidgeted some more. Merlin, that was annoying. How did anyone put up with him?

"Well, you see, because there is no real reason for you and Harry to be enemies anymore, but there's all this tension between the two of you, even though everyone else has settled down, we thought _maybe-_"

"What? That we secretly, subconsciously want to _shag_ each other?" Draco was scandalized. What was _wrong_ with this boy? He had never seemed all that bright sure, and was far clumsier than was safe, but sweet Merlin, was he really so delusional?

Apparently so, because at Draco's blithely sarcastic comment, he had begun nodding emphatically. Good Lord. What on earth was he thinking? Driftingly, Draco realized the boy had begun to speak again, more steadily, now that the initial moment had passed.

"… And we tried talking to Harry about why he hated you and he just said you irked him, and Hermione said that meant you were annoying, but that wasn't true because everyone else got along with you fine, and you weren't particularly irksome, so it must be something else, so Harry said that no one had ever been so interested before, and Ron said there had been a reason to hate you before, and Harry said hating someone you've hated for so many years doesn't just go away overnight, but Seamus said there was no reason to keep hating you and everyone else had stopped, and there must be some other reason and then Harry said-"

"STOP!" Draco couldn't take the talking anymore. Was this what it was like in the Gryffindor tower? He shuddered at the thought.

"I accept that you are trying to come up with some reasons to explain away the animosity between Potter and myself, but this is simply something that _is_. That is the be all and end all. I'm certainly not his rival because I am annoyed at my inability to throw him down and fuck him into an available surface." The images that particular statement caused created some rather unsavoury reactions in Draco, but he pushed them to one side. He'd deal with the mental image of Potter laid bare on Snape's desk, glasses awry, hair tousled beyond repair, flushed and panting with arousal, while Draco stood over him, grinning wickedly as he-

No. He shook his head firmly. _Bad Draco._ Potter enemy. Not fuck buddy.

"Longbottom, the long and short of it is, this theory is ridiculous beyond belief. You should head immediately to the Hospital Wing because I think Madam Pomfrey should be alerted about your delusions. It's that way." Pointing the stunned Gryffindor towards the stairs, he strolled off. He always felt better after a well-executed dismissal.

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Well, that's Act One! Let me know what you think! Reviewers get sunshine and kisses! And speeches from Neville!

xx

A


	2. Slytherins are Cautious, Gryffindors are

**Aeryn:** I can't thank you enough for all your amazing reviews! They did give me a bit of performance anxiety, so I was a bit worried about how this chapter would turn out. But, I think it's ok. Donald likes it anyway.

**Donald:** Squawk!

**From the Closet:** For Merlin's sake Draco, it's _my_ turn now!

**Aeryn: T**hanks to **Chloe, grassandsafetypinsandthings, Cazzylove, YourGothicButterfly, Veneya, TrinityLost, **and **SugarRushPixie.** And of course to the amazing **AlineDaryen**, who reviewed my last story too, and always manages to push me to write more. Love you all!

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Act 2 - Slytherins are Cautious, Gryffindors are Blind

Detention with Snape was never fun. Why, why, _why_ did the Potions Master think it was a good idea to keep Draco and Potter paired up? Draco, of course, remembered the spiel that Snape had made at the time he assigned them to work together. He had gone on and on about mending differences, about forming new relationships, and other sufficiently Gryffindor sentiments...

Draco blinked. _Gryffindor_ sentiments? But Snape had never shown any sort of Gryffindor sentiments. Draco went over Snape's spiel in his mind. He must be remembering it wrong. Snape was Slytherin, he was cautious and conniving, and never, _ever_ anything remotely similar to _Gryffindorian._

Unless…

Draco went back over his conversation with Longbottom earlier, absent-mindedly working on the new potion Potter and he were making. Yes, a lot of what the Gryffindor had said was remarkably similar to how Snape had described their relationship. Tension without reason. Irritation without motive. Anger without basis.

He growled lowly in the base of his throat. Snape was in on it. That _bastard_. How dare he? And more importantly, what the hell made them think he and Potter weren't simply supposed to be enemies, the same way Snape and McGonagall were? _They_ weren't attempting fuck each other into all available surfaces! Draco shuddered. The idea of Snape and the Headmistress making the beast with two backs was far too disturbing an image to ever be thought of again. Of course, Snape chose that particular moment to lean over Draco's cauldron, go red in the face and start yelling about the variation of phoenix feather Draco had used. He listened vaguely with one ear, using all the willpower he possessed to _not_ imagine that red face yelling for an entirely different reason, with an elderly Headmistress beneath him. He lost the battle, and the image made him retch violently into his cauldron, just as Potter leant over to add another badly-chopped ingredient. The look on Potter's face at the vomit on his hand had been worth it, Draco thought faintly, before passing out. Their cauldron picked that moment to explode.

* * *

Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing with a pounding headache and a pissed off demeanor. Draco Malfoy had _puked_ on him. _Urgh. _

He looked around, to find a worried Ron and Hermione sitting next to his bedside. _Crap._ _Here comes the 'talk'._ Harry had had the talk multiple times since it had become apparent that he and Malfoy weren't about to resolve their differences like everyone else had. It involved Hermione making her 'I'm disappointed in you, you should be nicer, more tolerant' speech, while Ron nodded and said encouraging things at regular intervals. It was comforting to know how much his friends cared for him, but he really wished they would stay away from his feud with Malfoy. It wasn't _their_ problem after all.

"Harry," Hermione began. He studiously avoided rolling his eyes. "We want to talk to you about why we think you and Malfoy are having so many issues." Harry's eyebrows raised slightly. This was new.

"You see mate," Ron leant over anxiously. "We think you and Malfoy may have a, uh, _different_, issue than you think." Ron blushed, obviously thinking of something uncomfortable. Harry's eyebrows inched towards his forehead.

"Yes." Hermione interjected. "We think you might be so tense around his because of certain repressed feelings."

Harry interrupted. "What, like wanting to strangle him with my bare hands? That's hardly something being repressed, 'Mione, everyone in school knows I hate the git."

Hermione shook her head.

"Not anger. That's not the repressed feeling we are talking about. No Harry," She held up her hand as he made to protest. "We think you and Malfoy may be lashing out at each other physically because of the frustration you both feel about the nature of your relationship, and that it isn't progressing in the more, ah, _physical_, direction you both subconsciously want." Harry stared, uncomprehendingly. Was she suggesting…

Ron leaned in, seeing Harry's confusion. "Simply put mate, we think you and Malfoy secretly want to shag each other and it's driving you cray."

Harry's mouth dropped open, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"You think… Malfoy… Me… Angry... Because…. WHAAT?"

Hermione clucked disapprovingly at Harry's raised voice. He looked around, remembering where they were, before continuing in a more hushed tone.

"Seriously, guys, what in the name of all that is sacred made you come to _that_ conclusion? Malfoy and I have been enemies since we were _eleven_. Are you suggesting that we were subconsciously _attracted_ to each other when we were _children_? Besides which," He said, suddenly realizing the more pressing point. "I'm not gay."

Ron snorted and Hermione gave Harry a slightly condescending grin. He was baffled. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

"Harry, mate, even _Ginny_ knows you're, you know, _bent_. It's pretty obvious." Harry stared as Ron continued. "I mean, you never really showed any interest in sizing up the girls here like the rest of us did, you look at the guys when we change for Quidditch, and frankly, from what Ginny has told me, you certainly aren't all that attracted to women."

Harry spluttered. "I'm not! And I certainly was attracted to Ginny, we- Wait. Ginny thinks I'm gay?" Ron nodded.

It's ok, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. "We don't care. You are still our best friend. And we've known for ages. It doesn't change a thing."

Harry just stared. This wasn't happening. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of surprise. He thanked his friends for their views and concern, sent them back to classes and turned to lie down. The world had gone mental. Bloody mental.

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Act 3 is coming soon! Hope you are enjoying it thus far. I certainly am. :P

xx


	3. Slytherins are Cunning, Gryffindors are

**Aeryn**: *cowering* Don't hit me, don't hit me! I know this update has been absolutely AGES in coming, but at least it is nice and... well... kinda long! Blame my muse, she ran off with the boys into a blood red sunset filled with angst and vampirism. And yes, I did just say vampirism.

**Donald**: Squawk! Squawk!

**Aeryn**: Oh shut up Donald. No one cares.

* * *

_Act Three - Slytherins are Cunning, Gryffindors are Reckless_

It had taken three hours to convince everyone that he was fine, and another four to convince the Auror sent by the Ministry that he was not the victim of a Slytherin plot to kill the Boy-Who-Lived with puked-on-potions. Harry shuddered. He wouldn't be surprised if he was unable to eat dinner for quite some time. Certainly not the stew anyway.

Harry made his way out of the Hospital Wing, carefully sidestepping the bed with a groaning Neville in it. When he had asked Madam Pomfrey about it she had muttered something about delusional Gryffindors, and bustled off to administer some vile-looking potion to poor Neville. Next he snuck past an obnoxiously snoring Snape, wrapped in what appeared to be the remnants of an Egyptian Pharaoh's mummy. Harry chuckled a little at the memory of Snape's face as the potion exploded over him. It had been an entirely humorous mix of "Holy f*^#ing mother of Merlin" and "I will now wet my pants". The snigger turned to a shudder at the thought of what the Professor would have to say to them when he was again able to move his tongue. Really, for someone so advanced in Potions, shouldn't he have known not to stand there gaping like a codfish?

Harry had almost reached the Hospital Wing doors when he saw the bed currently being _caressed_ - there was no other word for it - by none other than Draco Malfoy. The blonde git was sprawled carelessly over the cotton sheets, arms flung out, coddling the pillow, one leg dangling to the floor. _Who the hell put him to bed? He looks like he is recovering from a good-_ No. He would not think that in relation to the ferret. No. No matter how tantalizing he looked, pale skin, rippling musculature, shaggy hair Harry wondered about the softness of, what it would be like to run his hands through it while- No. _No_. Bad.

Harry backed away from Malfoy's bed with utmost care, hands raised in front of him, as though he were trying to pacify an angry, hungry dragon. Had Malfoy been awake, he would have been. He reached the door to the wing, and turned tail, running at a speed the Hogwarts Track Team would have been proud of. Had they had one, of course.

DMHP

Draco awoke to a moonlit Hospital Wing, and the melodic snuffling sounds that were a sleeping Severus Snape. Rubbing the sleep from his bleary eyes, he caught what appeared to be a glimpse of Potter's arse, fleeing the scene with all the haste of a man with the hounds of hell at his heels. It was, Draco reflected, not the _worst_ arse at Hogwarts. Not to say it was the best of course. That title strictly belonged to Draco himself, Prince of Slytherin, Paragon of Manhood, and voted Most Utterly Shaggable by the Committee of Hogwartian Fan Girls. Whoever they were.

Draco raised himself from the stiff mattress, working the kinks from his back and doing a quick inventory to check all major organs were still present and accounted for. _Ingeniously clever brain, check. Generous yet stern heart, check. Most important and impressive c- Ahem. Check._ Relieved to find himself all in one fabulous-looking piece, he gingerly stood.

_Time to go, _he decided, watching Snape's eyes begin to flutter. He _really_ did not want to be the first thing the Professor saw after such a dramatic exit from the world of the conscious. No, he did not. With that thought in mind, he made his somewhat graceful, somewhat hampered - by tripping on a tangled sheet as he left - departure.

DMHP

Draco had been completely unable to sleep the night before. Not that you could tell by looking at him. The liberal application of eye-hydrating cream had fixed the bags under his eyes, something no Malfoy could ever be seen with. The cream, however miraculous in terms of appearance-alteration, did not stop him _feeling_ the effects of too little sleep. He had, for once, taken up the offer of coffee with breakfast, something unheard of for him. Coffee had far too many calories and far too little nutritional value for him to make a habit of drinking it. Today, unfortunately, it was required. Without it he simply would have been unable to function. He was used to at least ten hours of wondrous sleep a night, and had gotten no more than three the previous night. This was, of course, unacceptable.

And sitting across the Great Hall, innocently sipping at his milky tea, was the cause. _Potter_. Draco had never been so incensed with the man. His sleep was _sacred_. No one, _no one_ messed with his sleep. But Potter and his untamable hair, and his stupid beguiling eyes, and his ridiculous glasses that slipped so endearingly off his nose, his damned pale skin that stretched over that lean, muscled body - Potter thought it was _funny_ to get in his head and screw with his sleep. _Potter_. God, how he hated him.

Pansy was staring at Draco with the strangest look on her face. He tilted his head.

"What's with you, Pans?"

The girl shook her head as if trying to clear unsavoury thoughts. "Nothing. Just thinking about something Hermione mentioned earlier. It just suddenly made sense is all."

Draco's eyebrow lifted. "Pans, you have gone completely bonkers."

Thus satisfied, Draco set about making himself some toast, not noticing the sudden fixation of a certain green gaze apon his person. Oh, how oblivious can one be?

DMHP

Harry, unlike Draco, had slept. Barely. His dreams, rather than being the filled with the normal nightmarish images of war and blood that he had suffered since the war, had been filled with heavy-lidded gazes from smokey silver eyes, and long, muscular limbs entangled in soft sheets. He had woken quite befuddled and extremely uncomfortable. Thankfully, it had been more than thirty minutes before the first waking spell was set to go off, and he had been able to make use of the facilities to resolve his unsavory little problem. That is, he had gone to the loo to furiously wank to images of said smokey eyes. And it had been very satisfactory. Scarily satisfactory. Now he was sitting at breakfast, feeling distinctly awkward about the situation. He was Harry Potter for goodness sakes! He was supposed to have PTSD dreams about killing ol' Voldy and seeing people die in tragic and disturbing ways! He was _not_ supposed to have sex dreams about nameless, faceless, genderless, grey-eyed blondes who were absolutely _nothing_ like Malfoy, not even if you turned your head to the side and squinted. Ok, maybe they were a little like Malfoy, but you still had to squint to see it. Or not.

Harry sighed loudly and dramatically into his now-cold tea and Hermione fixed him with one of her Mother Hen looks. He met her eyes and grumbling, finished his breakfast, and of course, the cold tea that the house elves had "slaved over for arrogant-prats-who-didn't-care-for-their-sacrifice to sip at without actually drinking because they couldn't be bothered." God, Hermione could beat a Catholic at guilt. With both eyes closed. And one hand behind her back. Tied to a chair. On a boat. Harry shook his head. Nutty. He was going nutty.

DMHP

Draco had decided that the only proper way to make Potter get out of his head was to confront him and tell him to stop being so bloody confusing. Then Draco would be able to sleep again. It had been two nights of little-to-no-sleep in a row now, and Draco was hardly functioning at optimum level. He felt like a bloody train wreck, and knew, were it not for his miracle creams, he would look it too. Thank Merlin for magically-enhanced cosmetics. Which he did. Frequently.

Draco had, being the genius that he was (if a little sleep deprived), had engineered the perfect plan to fu- _confront_ Potter. He would Polyjuice himself as one of Potter's close friends, get close enough to perform a full body-bind jinx, and then calmly explain to the world's Saviour that he needed to get the fuck out of Draco's head. Brilliant _and _devious, if he did say so himself.

So, to put this genius little plan into action, he needed hair. More specifically, _ginger_ hair. He had decided to use Weasley as his cover because, despite being terribly ginger, he was Potter's best male friend, and Draco absolutely _refused_ do polyjuice himself as _Granger_. He would absolutely _not_ be a female. Not even for his terribly ingenious plan.

His need for ginger hair was why he was currently stalking down the hall like an enraged lion, keeping an eye on the red-haired boy in front of him. With a slightly undignified "Oof!" he collided with the Weasley. Oddly, the ginger boy didn't budge, the force of the collision instead knocking Draco rather unexpectedly on his surprised bottom. Weasley turned around, looking somewhat uncertain, and then spotted Draco lying in an ungainly puddle on the stone flagons.

"Blimey Malfoy, mate, didn't see you there! Almost thought I was hallucinating for a second, that bump, and then no one there." He offered his hand to Draco, who managed to untangle his limbs enough to take it, and pull himself to his feet.

Weasley shook his head disbelievingly. "I know you seekers are supposed to be light Malfoy, but for a tall bloke, you sure are weedy." Tutting, Weasley brushed a stunned Draco down, and headed off on his way. The blonde was still frozen, rooted to the spot long after the ginger boy had turned the corner, so pissed he couldn't even care that he hadn't succeeded in getting one of Weasley's hairs.

_I am NOT weedy!_

_

* * *

_

So, hopefully that was up to par. More coming very soon, I promise. Reviewers get Weasley hairs for their own nefarious purposes, and bandages Snape plushies.

xx

A


	4. Slytherins are Juvenile, Gryffindors are

**Aeryn:** Sooo, I realize this took a _massively _long time, but I kind of have an excuse - I got a job! A real, full time one. And that means less time to write boy smex. So, I know you are probably pissed at me, but look - I bring apologetic boy smexiness!

**Donald:** Squawk! Squawk!

**Aeryn:** *_defeated_* Yeah I know. I'm a bad person.

* * *

_Act Four - Slytherins are Juvenile, Gryffindors are Hopeless_

Neville was sleeping quietly and peacefully in his bed in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey had just been past to check he was taken his medicine, and to ask if he was still labouring under those dreadful delusions. Unfortunately for Neville, he wasn't sure anymore, which really had the medi-witch worried. The poor boy truly was losing his mind.

Just as he began to drift off to sleep, a dark flicker registered on the corner of his vision. _Silly Pomfrey_, he thought, his eyes fluttering closed, and his mind descending into the realm of the unconscious.

DMHP

Draco's failure to get the desired ginger hair had not deterred him from his goal. He was determined to find another way. And, as he still refused to polyjuice as Granger, he elected to go for the most vulnerable and unsuspecting Gryffindor boy of them all. Luckily for Draco, said boy just happened to be in the Hospital Wing, recuperating from severe and persistent delusions.

Neville Longbottom's bed was several rows down, but the Wing was almost empty, so it wasn't too hard to reach, under the safety net of a disillusionment spell of course. Thank goodness for his father's somewhat justified yet still extremely annoying and persistent paranoia. If there was one thing a father suffering from delusions of grandeur and a persecution complex was good for, it was disillusionment spells. Of course, using 37 at once might have been overkill, but better safe than sorry.

Draco swept towards the slumbering Gryffindor, cloak billowing in an invisible magical breeze, and leant down to carefully and gently rip a few tender hairs from the unconscious boy's head.

"OWW!"

Draco winced. He probably should have used scissors.

DMHP

Neville jerked awake, out of his dreams of copulating Harrys and Malfoys, to a suspiciously empty hospital wing. He reached up to the current source of his consciousness - a severely twanging spot on his head that seemed more than slightly bare of hair. Had he started balding in the night? Neville jumped out of bed to check a mirror in horror, and failed to notice the Wing's door swing open and closed all of its own accord.

"I look like my grandmother!"

DMHP

Now that Draco had the required hairs, all he needed was to apply them to the potion he had tricked some sixth years into making for him, and to put his plan into motion. He had already planned where he would attack, _H- _Potter always waited until everyone else was finished to have his shower after Quidditch practice. He would strike then.

Draco grinned, extremely pleased with himself. Potter wouldn't know what had hit him.

DMHP

It had been a particularly tiring practice, Harry mused. The upcoming game against Slytherin had everyone's nerves on edge, and Angelina getting smashed by a Bludger half way through drills hadn't helped any. Hopefully she would be out of the Hospital Wing before game day. No one knew if her nose would ever be quite the same again.

Harry waited until everyone else had finished their showers, as was his practice, and then stripped and turned on the hot water, scalding as per his preference. Stepping into the sizzling water, he added some of those amazing magical bath salts Hermione had bought him, and the room filled with the scent of patchouli and sandalwood. _Yum._

Harry's muscles soon began to relax. His mind however, was stuck playing repeats of this morning's dream. He had tried not to think about it all day, but now, alone with no one but his thoughts for company, it had surged into every corner of his grey matter with a vengeance. The back of his eyelids were soon ingrained with images of slinking, sexy blondes, smoky eyes, and hard thrusts. Looking down, Harry was not surprised to discover he had a repeat problem. Trying to pretend the blonde in his dreams was someone else ('_Luna? Oh, no, that's just - oh, ew!'_) he began to take care of said problem. He was just getting to a really good bit, with the extraordinary visual of incredible grey eyes that looked nothing like Malfoy's staring up at him while a smirking mouth enclosed around his aching prick, when he heard a strangled cough.

Harry stopped what he was doing abruptly and leaned over the shower cubicle door to look at Neville. Something wasn't right. Neville never talked to him while they were changing or showering, too occupied with staring at the floor and blushing whenever anyone came near. And he certainly never looked at Harry with eyes like those. Burning, lustful eyes, filled with desire. For a moment Harry was so stunned he couldn't speak. Wait - wasn't Neville supposed to be in the hospital wing? Then Neville's adoring grin began to melt and twist, and suddenly it was Malfoy, Malfoy who was standing there, a superior smirk dancing on his face.

DMHP

Draco had never been so hard in his life. What did Potter think he was doing, looking all gorgeous and fuckable, all sinewy, lean musculature and tanned skin, slender fingers wrapped around his -

Draco made a strangled sound. God, that _bastard_. He would show him, he would show him - but then Potter turned around, and as intense as the profile view had been it was nothing, _nothing_, compared to having Potter, _Harry_, stare at him, viridian eyes wide and naive.

Damn him. Draco wanted to smack that perfect face. Screw telling him to get out of his head, Draco was going to make him.

Potter was going to be unable to use his right hand for a while, Draco smirked.

DMHP

"What the fuck-?" Harry never had time to finish his sentence, because Malfoy came at him fist clenched. Ducking under a swing, Harry feigned right, and quickly darted left, swinging up and into Malfoy's jaw with his fist. With a startled grunt, Malfoy fell back a few paces, and Harry followed up with a swift jab to the ribs. Malfoy swung again, not to be outdone, but Harry superior musculature gave him the edge. Batting away Malfoy's fists, he grabbed his nemesis by the neck and threw him into the wall. Malfoy attempted another swing, and Harry smoothly ducked out of the way, only to end up with his mouth a hair's breath from Malfoy's. For a second neither of them moved, stunned at the sudden proximity, feeling their breath mingle, and then they were on each other like rabid wolves, kissing and biting and thrusting.

Harry pulled Draco's head up from where it was making an angry hickey on Harry's neck, and smashed their mouths together again, tongues battling even more ferociously than their fists had been just moments ago. They both groaned. This was what they had needed, not a fight with fists, with words and thinly veiled barbs, but a way to release their frustrations and desire. Suddenly, Harry knew why he'd always hated the stupid git. Because they hadn't been doing this all along. _Damn Hermione,_ Harry groaned mentally. He'd never hear the end of this one.

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Are you gonna kill me for ending it there? I promise, I'm already writing the next chapter!

Love and huggles to all those who have reviewed so far - I have read them all and they made me sooo happy, you have no idea. :)

xx

A


	5. Slytherins are Hard to Handle, Gryffindo

**Aeryn:** I told you it would be soon. Just an epilogue left now. Good thing I've got the flu, huh?

**Donald: **Squawk! Squa-Squa-Squa-Squawk!

**Aeryn: **Donald wishes to inform you that there is heated boy smex in this chapter that is rather graphic. If you do not enjoy such things…. Well then what the #!% are you reading this story for?

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_Act Five: Slytherins are Hard to Handle, Gryffindors are Sneaky_

Draco was drowning, gasping for air - a sweet breath of oxygen with mussed dark hair and piercing eyes. Swirling in the intensity that was kissing Harry Potter. He slammed the boy against the wall, suddenly determined to have more. More skin on skin, more lips on lips, more sweat, more tongue, everything more. _Merlin, _why hadn't they done this sooner?

Potter, no, _Harry_, was squirming against him, not to get away, but to get closer, searching for more contact. Suddenly, one particularly nice movement brought two cloth-covered erections into contact. They both stilled, eyes wide as they felt the intimate touch.

"Ohh.." Harry was the first to react, closing his eyes and moaning reverently. Draco experimentally flicked his hips forward and smirked as the darker boy groaned. "Dammit, Malfoy, don't tease."

Draco grinned. "Who said anything about teasing?" He swiveled his hips again. Another groan. "I don't know about you, _Potter_," He said the name with a hiss of breath against Harry's ear, "but I never promise anything I can't deliver."

Harry grinned right back. "Is that so? Then, _Draco,_" he purred, "you wouldn't mind _taking these damn clothes off_?"

Well if that wasn't the best offer Draco had had all day. In record time the blonde was ripping fabric left and right, and ensuring one thing - he was going to need a new school uniform.

It was well worth it when Draco saw the look on Harry's face. It was part astonishment, part jealousy and all pure lust. The brunette lifted his hands to Draco's face slowly, in stark contrast to the frenzied pace of a moment before. His skilled fingers gently traced the pale landscape of Draco's cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, _lips._ Then, as suddenly as the reverence had arrived, it fled, and Harry was once again upon him all sharp angles and muscles, trying to meld their bodies together.

Somehow, and Draco really didn't remember how it happened, they ended up on the floor, in the still running, still warm water pooling on the tiles. He lay on Harry, and to his great joy had ended up between the other boy's legs. The friction between them was a thousand times better now, skin on skin on skin on skin. The slick slide of their erections together was glorious. But it wasn't enough. Silently and wandlessly conjuring lube in one hand - _wait, had he even been able to do that before now?_ - Draco slid his fingers down the crevice behind Harry's sacs, searching, and then finding, his goal - a small puckered entrance. Here he stopped, his finger nudging the tight ring of muscle, and looked up at the brunette. Wordlessly answering the silent question, Harry nodded. Then, just to make his point clear, he squirmed down against the finger and groaned "_Please_." That single word was more than enough to make Draco loose his rapidly diminishing self-control, and he pressed up, a single finger seeking entrance to the other's body. It slipped past the first ring of muscle, and the tight walls were overwhelming. He flicked his head up, staring at Harry, afraid he had hurt him, afraid he would have to stop.

The moans now pouring from Harry's mouth were more than enough to persuade Draco that, yes, he was in fact ok, and yes, he could indeed continue, so carefully, oh so carefully, Draco slid the finger in all the way. Gently massaging the inside of the other boy's tight channel, he stopped suddenly when he heard a yowl, and felt Harry's back arch. A single glance convinced him that whatever he had touched had been good rather than bad, and with a customary smirk, Draco set about driving his new lover to distraction. From the litany of curses he could hear, it appeared to be working.

"For the love of Merlin, Draco, please, just _fuck me_ already!"

The blonde grinned, removing his fingers from the other boy's delectable arse, and crawling back up Harry's body. "My pleasure." he purred, and conjuring another handful of lube - _really, how was he doing that?_ - slicked his throbbing erection and lined it up with Harry's entrance. Cautiously, gently, he thrust just the head inside. The boy underneath him went silent. Worried, Draco looked up. 'Please, please, please' he begged silently, 'don't ask me to stop'. The tight rightness of being inside Harry was too much. He wasn't even sure he could stop if Harry asked.

Thankfully, Harry didn't ask. He took a few deep breaths, and then nodded for Draco to continue. Unsure, Draco hesitated, and Harry, who had never been the world's most patient person, scowled and pushed his hips down towards the blonde's. The motion forced Harry's body to accept more of Draco inside, and pushed the Slytherin back into motion.

Still careful, he thrust bit by bit until he was fully ensconced inside Harry. Then, for a moment, they were both still, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the situation they found themselves in. Then, as was becoming their pattern, Harry drove himself down, grinding further onto Draco's pelvis, causing the other boy to moan throatily.

"_Fuck_ me, Draco." And really, who was Draco to refuse the saviour of the wizarding world when he asked so nicely, in that lusty whisper? Exactly, no one.

The blonde withdrew slowly, painstakingly, feeling like Harry's body was trying to pull him in, until he had retreated to almost all the way out. Then, with a sadistic smirk, he propelled himself all the way in in a single motion. Harry screamed in pure pleasure, head thrown back. Draco kept this up until he could feel his toes begin to curl and Harry's body clenching around him. At this point, throwing control to the wind, he fucked Harry with furious thrusts, and Harry fucked himself right back, meeting Draco thrust for thrust. Sensing he was close, the blonde snaked a hand up between their sweat-slicked bodies and grasped the other boy's attention-starved cock. A few quick pulls were all it took to send Harry straight over the edge, and feeling the spasms of the brunette's tight walls around him, Draco almost immediately followed him into oblivion.

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So how was that? Too graphic? Bad? Horrible? Fun? Let me know, I'm always so insecure about sex scenes!

xx

A


	6. Epilogue Slytherins are Ticklish, Gryff

**Aeryn**: Whew! I can't believe it's over! The response I have had from you guys has been amazing, and since everyone seems sad for it to end, there will be a new chapter fic going up relatively soon. It's called _Into the Dragon's Den_. No points for guessing the pairing. :)

**Donald**: Squawk! Squawk

**Aeryn**: Oh ruin it for everyone why don't you Donald!

Anyway, special thanks go out to the following _incredible_ reviewers. You are the absolute best.

_grassandsafetypinsandthings_

_Cazzylove_

_thegenuineimitation_

_malfoy+harry_

_Neko46_

_elza_

_FangIsExcellent_

_gaaralover1989_

_The Queen of Confusion_

_Chloe_

_SugarRushPixie_

_TrinityLost_

And as always, my idol,

_AlineDaryen_ - who may just be getting a Veela!Draco gift fic from me if she keeps up this insane reviewing!

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_Epilogue - Slytherins are Ticklish, Gryffindors are Bendy_

You could have heard a quill drop. The silence in the Great Hall was deafening, suffocating, and hellishly embarrassing.

_This,_ Draco mused, _is why holding hands is a __**bad**__ idea._ He turned to say as much to Harry, but the other boy's face was lit up like a christmas tree, a cheshire cat grin splitting his face in two. Even Draco wasn't heartless enough to destroy that. Well, not for Harry anyway.

Sighing, Draco turned back to the hall full of peers, teachers and animals of various indeterminate species. All of them had black holes where there mouths had been only a few minutes previously. Obviously, none of them had ever been taught etiquette by Narcissa Malfoy.

The first to break the silence was Dean Thomas, who broke out into hysterical, high-pitched, girlish laughter, and then gestured with one hand at the assembled Gryffindors.

"Come on-_ahahahahhaa_-cough up. I-_ahahaha_-had dibs on the showers after-_ahahaha_- after practice. Cough-_ahahaha_-up!" And to Draco's astonishment and Dean's delight, the Gryffindors began handing over large sums of Galleons. They had been _betting_! _Those no good, dirty, slimy, scheming, filthy, gambling_- Draco was cut off mid rant by bushy brown hair flying into his fuming mouth.

"Oh Harry, finally! Draco-I can call you Draco yes?- I am so happy you two are finally together! You don't know how glad we are to finally have all this fighting over and done with once and-"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. "Who said we aren't going to fight? We just became a couple, 'Mione, not changed our base DNA." Draco was befuddled. DM-whatnow? "Besides," the dark haired boy continued, "I kinda like the fighting." He flicked his eyes up to meet Draco's and blushed deeply.

Draco smirked. "Actually, I concur with my Gryffindorian paramour. Fighting is a major part of our relationship. I wouldn't be surprised," his grin widened, "if we fight even _more_ now. Isn't that right Harry?"

The brunette nodded. "Absolutely. After all, fighting is what makes Draco do that-" he stopped speaking abruptly. He looked confused for a moment. Opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. And then glared at Draco.

The blonde raised his hands in mock innocence. "What? I didn't do anything. Did you see me do anything, Hermione dear?"

The bushy-haired Gryffindor shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere. "Is something wrong, Harry? Did someone do something?"

Harry gave Draco a look that could have frozen water. If looks could do such things of course. The Gryffindor pointed his wand at the blonde and made a complicated flicking motion, mouthing something silently.

"Harry, love, what are you doing, you really don't want to-" The Slytherin was cut off abruptly by his own peals of laughter. "_Ahahaha_, tickles, _hahaha_, tickles so mu-u-u-uch! Stop, _hahaha_, Ha-Ha-Ha-arry, stop! _Hahaha_!"

The perpetrator looked rather pleased with himself. Hermione was in the middle of scolding him for juvenile spell-casting when a bolt of white magic hit him square in the chest. In moments, Harry's body was contorting itself into the strangest shapes imaginable, in midair. The entire hall watched the two boys in astonishment for several minutes before anyone had the presence of mind to cast the counter-curses.

They were both taken to the Hospital Wing for spell damage.

DMHP

"Ahh...!"

"Mmm..!"

The tangle of sheets on a certain blonde's bed in the Slytherin dormitories was making strange and rather happy noises. After a few minutes, two heads popped out of the nest of blankets, with satisfied and dazed faces.

After a moment of contented silence, the blonde spoke.

"So, those shapes-"

"Yep."

"Wow."

"What about you and those sensitive nerve endings that-"

"Uh-huh."

"Ni-ice."

"Maybe we should try that in our rooms next time?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

And with that, two very happy, very sated, teenage boys fell asleep.

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_FIN_

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Thanks for the memories guys! I'll see you with a new story soon!

xx

A


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